


When the Bough Breaks

by CountrygalxHetalia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mpreg, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountrygalxHetalia/pseuds/CountrygalxHetalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being pregnant wasn't as easy as Sherlock thought it would be. Thank god John was there to help him every step of the way. (This basically starts at The Great Game and goes from there, save that Sherlock's pregnant now! Might think of a different title later)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Great Game

**Author's Note:**

> So, this basically is like the show except that Sherlock is seven months pregnant starting in the Great Game (S1xE3). In this, I believe they've known each other a bit longer than they did in the show just so I could make my plot work, so maybe closer to year. They've known each other for a little bit before A Study in Pink and then the time between the cases starting in the show are just a touch more spanned out. Well, I think that's it. I hope you enjoy and lemme know whatcha think!

            John plopped down in his chair and set his computer in his lap, sipping at his morning cuppa. Sherlock would hopefully sleep for a bit longer and he could type up their new case without interruption or distraction. The keys were mostly quiet as his fingers moved quickly across them. He enjoyed the silence, listening to the muted sounds of London outside the flat. The quiet was a rarity and John was going to relish every second of it.

            He just finished up the newest blog entry when he heard grumbling coming from his and Sherlock’s room. He smiled and closed his laptop, picking up his empty mug and moving to the kitchen. He grabbed the eggs from the fridge, ignoring the usual bag of fingers, and set them on the counter next to the stove. He was just searching through the dirty dishes in the sink for a pan when Sherlock trudged into the sitting room.

            “Morning love,” he called, wiping one of the cleaner pans down. Sherlock grumbled in response, shuffling behind the doctor. He long, spindly arms wrapped around the doctor’s midriff and he buried his nose in his short hair. John smiled and set the pan down, turning around and cupping the taller’s cheek. “Good morning,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his lips. He bent down, sliding down Sherlock’s front until his cheek was pressed against the warm swell of Sherlock’s belly.

            “Morning to you too,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to his abdomen. He grinned up at Sherlock who huffed but couldn’t keep the small smile off his lips. “Are you hungry?” he asked the detective, getting back to his feet. Sherlock nodded grudgingly and moved to sit in the living room.

            “Yes, unfortunately,” he replied, sitting down on the sofa and stretching across it, steepling his fingers under his chin. John rolled his eyes and began cracking eggs in the pan.

            You’re the one that wanted the baby,” he replied, stirring the eggs around in the warming pan, adding bits of this and that.

            “Yes, yes, I know, as you so kindly keep reminding me,” he sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. John forced back a chuckle. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the day Sherlock came to him and said he wanted a baby. They’d been dating for a while when detective told him, and he’d been completely shocked. He eventually warmed up to the idea though, and agreed on one condition. Once they’d gotten married, he’d offered adoption but Sherlock had refused vehemently, saying _he_ wanted to have the baby. John had then promptly asked if the detective had a fever.

            Sherlock insisted for weeks, giving facts and data, begging and seducing the doctor, finally causing John to cave. After many experiments, many, many tests, and quite a few regrettable calls to Mycroft, Sherlock had, incredibly, gotten pregnant. Now seven months along, the detective was more dramatic, more moody, and more snappy, most of the time anyway.

            “Were you sick when you got up?” the doctor asked as he scraped the eggs onto a plate and carried them into the living room. Sherlock shook his head and sat up, taking the plate quickly.

            “No,” he mumbled around the eggs he was shoveling into his mouth,” but the kid wouldn’t sit still for anything. No matter which way I turned.” He sent a slight glare to his stomach before turning his attention back to his breakfast. John smiled and kissed the top of his head. “I’ve been dying for a case John!”

            “Maybe Lestrade’ll stop by soon with a decent murder,” he replied, tugging on a lock of hair. “Orange juice and tea?” he asked, moving back to the kitchen and opening the fridge. Sherlock nodded, swallowing the food in his mouth. He’d been so gratefully that the detective’s cravings had been relatively mild. Perhaps a few odd mixtures here and there but nothing too outrageous, and really John was just happy to see the man eating more. They’d had one of Mycroft’s private doctor to see them, knowing they’d scare a regular obstetrician.

            Sherlock had been stuck in the flat once his growing abdomen had swollen too big to be hidden. Few people had been told of Sherlock and his ‘condition’. Mrs. Hudson naturally, there would’ve been no way to have hidden it long with her popping in and out all the time. Lestrade, for the sake of Sherlock’s sanity so he could have cases without having to leave the flat. And Molly. Sherlock wasn’t clear on why he’d decided to tell the young woman, but John agreed none the less.

            Sherlock had had a rather rough time adjusting to the changed his body was forcing itself to go through, but John had helped him through them and now the detective was more than ready to have the child out of him.

            “Yes,”             Sherlock called, setting the empty plate on the cluttered table in front of him. John grabbed the orange juice and poured a glass as he turned the kettle back on. He sat down next to Sherlock handing him the glass. “I saw you typed up the taxi driver case,” the detective commented coolly. John nodded, scrunching his eyebrows at the man’s tone.

            “Mhm, I did,” he replied easily. Sherlock smirked as he sipped at the orange juice.

            “A Study in Pink,” he mumbled, setting the glass down beside his plate, “very creative.” John rolled his eyes and allowed Sherlock to lean over and lay in his lap.

            “Well there was a lot of pink, you know. Pink lady, pink case, pink phone.” He shrugged and ran a hand through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man, refusing to lean into his touch as he rubbed his own belly absentmindedly.

            “Even so,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow as he looked at John.

            “What?” the doctor asked, stopping the ministrations to look wonderingly at the man. Sherlock huffed and pursed his lips.

            “ _Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What’s incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things_ ,” he quoted, glaring slightly at his husband. John opened his mouth, glancing up as the kettle began whistling.

            “Now hang on a minute Sherlock. I didn’t mean that in a–” John started as Sherlock sat up, getting off his lap.

            “Oh, you meant ‘spectacularly ignorant’ in a _nice_ way,” Sherlock replied sarcastically, watching the shorter stand and move to the kitchen, “you know it doesn’t matter to me who’s Prime Minister...” John nodded as he fixed Sherlock’s tea. “Yes, I know.” “... Or who’s sleeping with who ...” he continued. John moved back to the sitting room and handed the mug to his husband.

            “Or whether the Earth goes round the Sun ...” he trailed off, finding a tiny amount of joy seeing Sherlock glare up at him murderously.

            “Honestly John, it’s not _important_ ,” he groaned, holding the cup in both hands to warm them a bit. John’s eyes widened a bit and he sat back down next to Sherlock.

            “It’s primary school stuff love,” he said, smirking a bit, “ _how_ can you not know that of all things?” Sherlock did his best to suppress a growl and simply sipped at his tea.

            “I might have known it at one point, but if I ever did I’ve deleted it,” he said, refusing to look at John. The doctor shook his head and watched, knowing the man was about to start rambling. “This is my hard drive,” he continued, setting his tea down “and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful ... _really_ useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Don’t you see?”

            “Not exactly,” John replied, resting his elbows on his knees, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see inside that brain of yours. I just...it’s the _solar system!_ ” Sherlock moaned in apparent agony and buried his head in hands.

 _“_ Oh, hell! What does that _matter_?!” he asked exasperatedly, rounding on John in growing frustration. “So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn’t make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots.” John simply smiled at Sherlock and nodded as if in complete understanding.

            “Alright, alright,” he said gently, raising his hand in surrender, “you win. I get it. You’re absolutely brilliant and don’t need to junk up your perfect mind.” Sherlock rolled his eyes but relented and leaned against John, grabbing his tea again. John could feel him slipping out of the cold, rigid persona for a moment, too tired to stay all that grumpy with the doctor. He reached his arm over and pressed his hand against the detective’s stomach, splaying his fingers over the stretched skin. Sherlock watched John and felt his heart flutter despite how upset he’d been a moment ago.

            “He’s going be like you,” he murmured, bringing his glass to his lips. John smiled and rubbed the skin lightly, kissing Sherlock’s temple.

            “ _She’s_ going to be perfect, like you,” he replied, nudging the man over so he could stand and make his tea. Sherlock snorted and watched them man, appreciating the sway he put into his step.

            “I told you, it’s a boy,” he said exasperatedly, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. John poured the hot water into a clean mug and smirked at Sherlock over his shoulder.

            “And how would you know that?” he asked, “mother’s intuition?” Sherlock growled slightly and John laughed as he walked back into the sitting room.

            “Twat,” the detective muttered, taking his tea. John gently flicked his ear and dropped a kiss into his hair. Sherlock’s phone ran from the end table and the detective’s eyes lit up. Lestrade never called unless it was an extremely important case, otherwise he simply dropped by. John tried to snatch it, but Sherlock’s pregnancy hadn’t slowed his motor control or his reflexes.

            “Holmes,” John said sternly as Sherlock’s finger hovered over the answer button, “give it!” Sherlock’s silvery blue eyes widened and he made tears bud in his eyes. “No, that won’t work and you know it. Fork it over.” Sherlock stuck his tongue out and gave him the mobile.

            “Hello?” John said, holding the phone to his ear. He heard an exasperated sigh before Greg spoke up.

            “What are you? Sherlock’s secretary?” the DI asked and John could see the smirk on his face.

            “I suppose you could call me that for the moment,” the doctor replied with a chuckle, “what do you need?” He watched the detective stand up and walk over to one of the many cluttered surfaces in the room and pick something up.

            “There’s a crime scene and we need Sherlock,” Lestrade told John. The doctor rolled his eyes and then gaped as Sherlock cocked his gun.

            “You know he can’t leave the flat,” John replied, pointing at Sherlock and mouthing for him to put the gun down. “Can’t you just send the evidence over like usual?”

            “John we need him to see this,” the man pressed as Sherlock lifted the gun and took a few shots at the smiley face painted on the wall.

            “Shit! Sherlock put that down!” he shouted as Lestrade began yelling about the gunshots, “he’s just being Sherlock Greg, calm down. Now, how do you plan on hiding his stomach if he comes out?” Sherlock turned and sneered at John, waving the gun around.

            “I’m bored John!” he said as he took another shot, “bored!” John pulled his finger out of his ear and glared at Sherlock. It was probably an easy solve and Sherlock would come and pout afterward.

            “I don’t know! Couldn’t you say he was hiding a pillow under his shirt for an experiment or something?” Greg offered and John could hear him snickering. The doctor snorted and rolled his eyes, stomping up to Sherlock and snatching the weapon from him. In turn, Sherlock grabbed his phone and pressed it eagerly to his ear.

            “What? What is it?” he asked quickly. Lestrade repeated the ‘silly’ idea and Sherlock scrunched his nose.

            “Oh god, that’s…” he trailed off, lips parting, “brilliant. That’s the first smart thing I’ve ever heard you say!” He beamed and looked at John. “That’s what we’ll say! Grab your coat, we’re going! Christ, I’ve been dying to get out of the flat! That was the perfect excuse!” John’s jaw dropped and he watched the detective tell Lestrade they were on their way.

            He pulled his Belstaff on and barely managed to button it over his bulging middle. He checked his coat to make sure it covered his stomach enough then turned to John and scrunched his eyebrows in an irritated manner as the doctor gaped at him. “Why are you just standing there? There’s a case!”

            John closed his mouth and looked at the detective over. He was still in his pajama bottom and house slippers. The look on his face though was irresistible. His eyes were bright and expectant and his lips were turned up at the corners because he knew John wouldn’t say no.

            “Fine,” he replied, walking forward and grabbing his own coat, “but no chasing after anyone if a criminal comes along, got it?” He raised an eyebrow and Sherlock huffed but nodded his head. “Good.” John leaned up and kissed his cheek, “come on then, let’s go.” They heard Mrs. Hudson open the front door and they began walking down the stairs as she was walking up.

            “Oh, sorry dears,” she said as they bumped into one another. John smiled and shook his head.

            “It’s fine,” he told her, “we’re going out for a bit, we’ll be back soon though.” She nodded, giving Sherlock a concerned look and continued up stairs with the groceries sacks she was holding.

            “It’s a bit nippy out today, I hope you two have dressed warmly enough,” she called Sherlock paused a moment on the last steps and looked back, a smirk tugging at his lips. They both heard the shocked gasp and John gave Sherlock a look.

            “Sherlock Holmes!” she called, “what have you done to my bloody wall?!” The detective snickered softly and pulled John down and out the front door, just able to hear the shout of “I’m putting this on your rent, young man!” as the door closed behind them.


	2. A Baby?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides to tell John he wants a baby.

            _John and Sherlock had caught a cab back to Baker Street after leaving the crime scene where John had shot the cabbie that tried to kill Sherlock. They’d hopped inside and proceeded to have a victory snog after telling the cabbie where to go._

_“John,” Sherlock moaned softly as the doctor climbed over him and straddled his lap. John grinned, kissing back along the detective’s jaw to his throat and tugging at the man’s hair gently. Sherlock swallowed with some difficulty and managed to open his eyes. “John,” he said breathily, gripping the shorter’s hips._

_“Mmm, what is it?” the older questioned as he trailed his fingers down to grip at the man’s neck. Sherlock had to bite his lip to hold back a moan as he tilted his head back and John attacked his throat. It felt like fire wherever their skin met and Sherlock could barely think it was so overpowering._

_“I… I need to tell you something,” he mumbled. The haze caused by John kissing and licking his throat and collarbone was clogging his brain. Everything had a fuzzy edge and he never wanted it to end._

_“And what would that be?” John whispered, rolling his hips lightly against Sherlock’s. The detective groaned at the friction and opened his mouth to speak, but the taxi stopped and the cabbie told them they’d arrived. John tossed some notes to the man and scrambled out, pulling Sherlock by the lapels of his coat. The doctor fumbled for the keys and managed to unlock the door to the flat. He tripped inside, yanking Sherlock in and pinning him up against a wall._

_“What was it you wanted to tell me?” John asked, pressing completely flush against the detective’s front and panting against his throat. Sherlock shook his head, dipping his head down and covering John’s lips with his own._

_“Later,” he panted against the man’s mouth, “later.” John grinned and bit the man’s lip before pulling back and hurrying up the stairs, Sherlock in tow. It seemed to take forever to make their way up the stairs to their flat. They slammed the door closed behind them began shedding their clothes as fast as they could. They stumbled and lurched as they moved as quickly as they could to their room without breaking lip contact._

_They tumbled onto their bed as a tangle of limbs and sweat slicked skin. It was hot and fast and both men were spent within minutes. John panted against Sherlock’s throat as he draped himself over the detective, catching his breath as Sherlock twitched slightly underneath him, still recovering from the intensity of his orgasm. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers lightly over John’s back, swallowing down the nervousness he felt._

_“John,” he murmured, turning and brushing his lips against the man’s temple and cheek. John hummed softly, indicating he’d heard and telling him to continue. “I want a baby.” John opened his eyes slowly and pulled back a bit, looking at his boyfriend. Sherlock didn’t turn his head to look at John, even as the man stared at him._

_“A baby?” John asked, running a hand lightly over the taller’s shoulder, watching the man carefully. Sherlock nodded, moving his head slowly to look up at the blonde._

_“Mhm, a baby.” He nodded, biting his lip as he wracked his brain, searching through the post sex bliss. “I see all these people with children, happy and domestic, and I… I don’t understand. I want to see what that’s like,” he told John, looking at him with wide, silvery eyes. John studied the detective, watching him curiously._

_“Domesticity?” he asked softly, “you want that? I don’t mind, of course,” he reassured the man. John had given up all hope of settling down and having children once he’d begun dating Sherlock, but now that the detective was offering up the idea. “I never imagined you’d want this.” Sherlock forced down the flush he could feel making its way up his throat and nodded._

_“I… I don’t really know why,” he answered truthfully, “I just… I have this feeling in my chest… and I really, really want this.” John pursed his lips a bit, nodding a bit._

_“Alright,” he sighed, leaning down and brushing noses with the man, “but you have to understand that if you want a baby running around the place some things are definitely going to have to change.” Sherlock nodded eagerly, hope shining in his eyes._

_“Of course,” he replied, “naturally.” John smiled a bit and pressed his lips lightly against Sherlock’s, pulling away slightly to look him in the eye. Sherlock looked at him curiously, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes?”_

_“I have one condition,” the doctor said firmly, cupping the man’s cheek. The detective nodded, raising an encouraging eyebrow. “You have to marry me.” Sherlock’s lips split into a wide grin and he leaned his head up, eagerly kissing John on the lips. His eyes were bright as he pulled away to nod at the doctor._

_“I thought you’d never ask.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've probably thoroughly confused you all and I'm sorry, this idea just kinda came to me and I jumped on it. I'll be putting pieces of the past in between the chapters and this is from the past. I am so sorry and I hope you can forgive me!


	3. Think It Over

            John and Sherlock sat in a cab on the way back to 221B, both ignoring the looks the cabbie was shooting them. Sherlock had his arms crossed rigidly over his chest, glaring out the window. John had one leg crossed over the other and he was sending worried glances in Sherlock’s direction.

            It was an easy murder, as John had guessed, and Sherlock had solved it in just over five minutes. Not what they’d been hoping for. The now sulking detective had gotten many odd looks when they arrived, wearing his pajamas and with a ‘pillow’ stuffed under his shirt, but he’d simply ignored it, as he usually did. The two of them followed Lestrade to the crime scene where three people had been stabbed multiple times all along the body. None of them had expected though, for Sherlock to clamp his hand over his mouth the moment he walked up to the bodies and hurry off to the side.

            John had made something up about a stomach bug, giving Lestrade a look, and followed after the man. He rested a hand on Sherlock’s back, rubbing it gently as the detective threw up his breakfast. Greg had followed, wincing slightly as the man wiped his mouth.

            “The smell,” Sherlock muttered, swallowing and grimacing at the taste in his mouth, “the blood and the decomposition of the bodies.” Greg’s eyes widened and John frowned. It had been awhile since Sherlock had been to a crime scene, but John hadn’t expected the smell to affect him at all.

            “Do you want to go home?” he asked, looking firmly at Sherlock. The detective shook his head and took a breath through his mouth.

            “No,” he muttered, “no, I’m alright.” He straightened up, making his stomach a bit more pronounced, and walked back to the bodies. John sighed and followed a bit behind with Lestrade.

            “He’s gotten even more stubborn hasn’t he?” the DI asked, watching Sherlock pinch his nose and study the bodies. John nodded, narrowing his eyes at Anderson as the forensic tech scrunched his nose at Sherlock.

            “I had no idea that it was even possible for him to be anymore stubborn than he already was,” he muttered, watching as the detective did rather well in pointedly ignoring Anderson’s jabs. The two men walked up to the Consulting Detective and Greg told Anderson to piss off for a while. The forensics tech gaped and John had to hold back a laugh as Lestrade shooed him away.

            Sherlock gave Lestrade the killer, the weapon and where to find them both before turning and stalking off. John clapped Greg on the back and shrugged, telling him they’d have to get together for pints soon, and hurried after the man. The detective had already hailed a cab and was climbing in. John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck before following him in.

            “Sherlock, you knew it was going to be easy,” John said softly, resting a hand on his arm. The detective grumbled and curled in around his stomach a little more. John decided to stay silent the rest of the way home, not wanting to get Sherlock upset in such a small space. They both clambered out as the cab stopped in front of the flat and John paid the cabbie before turning to Sherlock.

            “One good case!! Something to let me think! Is that so much to ask for after being cooped up for so long?” he asked, throwing his hands up in the air with a flushed face. John sighed and grabbed his hand before he could rush into the flat. The taller sighed and looked down at the ground, pursing his lips as he did.

            “Why don’t I go get take out?” he said, rubbing his thumb over the man’s knuckles. “You can go change into something comfortable and I’ll go get Indian. How’s that sound?” Sherlock looked up at John and thought if over quickly before nodding.

            “Alright, do hurry though,” the detective said in a soft voice. John smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, rubbing a tender hand over his belly.

            “Of course love,” he replied, “now go on. I’ll be back soon.” Sherlock grinned as he watched John take off down the street. He opened the door and moved inside, having to waddle up the stairs. He slipped his coat off and hung it up, grabbing his silk robe off the sofa and pulling it on. He moved to the desk pressed against the side wall and moved some papers around, wrapping a hand around his pregnant belly and rubbing it tenderly.

            He was completely unprepared for the explosion that blew out the windows and made papers fly everywhere, knocking him to the floor. His head smacked hard against the ground and he groaned, curling around his stomach before he blacked out.

 

            John grabbed the bag of takeout, thanking the cashier and turning to walk out. He glanced up at the small television settled in the corner of the ceiling and saw the news playing, showing an explosion that had happened somewhere in central London. John paused, looking closer at the television and listening intently to the story.

            His eyes widened in shock and he ran out of the restaurant, trying to keep his imagination from running away from him as the wind whipped around him. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to Sherlock and he prayed both his husband and the baby were alright. It took him five whole minutes to get to Baker Street, running as quickly as he could with the Indian food in his hands.

            “‘Scuse me,” he muttered, hurrying through the crowd that was standing around and gawking at the blown up building across from 221B. John’s heart raced as he looked at all the rubble littering the street. The first and second floors had four rooms blown out and bricks and dust were everywhere. He told the policeman standing by the door that he lived upstairs, showing him the keys to the flat.

            He was allowed in and he immediately bounded up the stairs, calling out Sherlock’s name. He stumbled into the living room and sighed in relief when he saw Sherlock sitting in his chair. He was wearing one of the large jumpers John had bought him so he’d be more comfortable in his pregnancy, plucking at the strings of his violin with an irritated expression and a slight quiver in his movements.

            “Sherlock, are you alright?” he asked, dropping the takeout on a nearby table and rushing forward.

            “Of course, I’m fine,” he said and set his violin down, a barely audible tremor in his voice. The detective looked up at him, his lips pressed together and his edge of eyes tinted pink. “Oh Sherlock, c’mere love.” He held out his arms and Sherlocks jumped up, wrapping his long arms around John’s shoulders, his round belly pressing against John’s own flat middle.

            “Shh, it’s alright,” John soothed, running one hand through Sherlock’s hair to check for any bumps and rubbing the other over Sherlock swollen abdomen.

            “Your attempts at being subtle are pointless,” the detective muttered against his throat, “I know you too well.” Despite his attempt at a light tone, John could feel the taller trembling lightly against him. “It’s just the damn hormones, I’ll be alright in a moment,” Sherlock mumbled, burying his nose in the junction between John’s shoulder and neck. “The baby’s alright. He’s just been kicking around a lot, didn’t like all the excitement.”

            John nodded, still rubbing his scalp gently, more as a soothing gesture now. “They said it was a gas leak.” John pressed kisses to his temple and cheek. He looked over Sherlock’s shoulder and finally noticed Mycroft sitting and watching them quietly from his chair. The two of them stood there for a few more minutes before Sherlock stopped quivering and calmed down.

            “You alright?” John asked as the other pulled away. Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded, feeling much better. John pressed a kiss to his cheek and squeezed his arm before moving the work on cleaning up the mess scattered around the window and desk. Sherlock sat back down and grabbed his violin, looking at his brother coolly.

            “I can’t,” he said simply, feeling much more like his old self and plucking the strings again, this time without so much a quaver. Mycroft let out a long-suffering sigh.

            “You ‘can’t?’” the elder repeated, raising an eyebrow. Sherlock shrugged, plucking a wrong sounding note.

            “The case I’ve got right now is just too big. I simply can’t spare the time,” he replied, readjusting his grip on his violin. John’s eyebrows rose and he looked at Sherlock from his spot on the floor. Mycroft glanced between the two and gave his brother a look.

            “Never mind your usual trivia, brother. This is of national importance,” he urged, not moving an inch from where he was sitting. Sherlock strummed a quick, annoyed chord. John went back to looking over the thankfully minimal damage done by the explosion, shaking his head at the both of them.

            “How’s the diet?” Sherlock asked with a sly smirk, dodging the subject. He set the violin down and picked up the bow and a small cleaning rag. Mycroft’s eyes narrowed slightly and he pursed his lips.

            “Fine,” he said, suppressing a sneer, “you could go on one yourself.” Sherlock snorted and laid a hand over his middle.

            “I’m eating for two, thank you very much,” he replied as if Mycroft didn’t already know. Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked at John.

            “Perhaps you can get through to him John,” he said. The doctor stood and looked at the pair of them with scrunched eyebrows.

            “What makes you think he’ll listen to me?” he asked softly, moving to stand next to Sherlock. Mycroft leaned back in John’s chair, getting comfortable. Sherlock pointedly ignored his brother, cleaning his bow gently.

            “Unlike anyone else, he enjoys your presence and values your opinion,” Mycroft told him, sighing and watching the two of them. The doctor laughed and ran a hand through Sherlock’s hair. That was the first time he’d ever heard that one.

            “If you’re so keen on this, then why don’t _you_ investigate it,” Sherlock said, closing his eyes for a moment and reveling in the attention John was showing his head. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, snorting as he eyed the two

            “No, no, no, no, no. I can’t be away from the office for any length of time, not with the Korean elections so…” he trailed off, remembering his place. Both men across from him looked at him curiously, Sherlock having actually opened his eyes. The elder Holmes gave them a chilling smile that simply said ‘you didn’t hear that’. “Well, you don’t need to know about that do you?” Sherlock snorted and leaned his head back a bit more.

            “Besides,” he continued, linking his fingers together and cupping his knee, “a case such as this, it requires,” he grimaced in distaste, “legwork.” Sherlock laughed humorlessly and set his bow across his lap.

            “As if I ought to be doing any sort of legwork in my condition,” the detective scoffed, quite affectionately rubbing his stomach.

            “Plenty of women walk about and exercise while pregnant, brother mine. It would probably do you good,” Mycroft said a touch snidely. Sherlock ignored his brother and leaned his head back to look at John.

            “Could I have that Indian now? I’m starving.” The doctor nodded and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He walked back to where he’d dropped the takeout and picked it up, grabbing a fork from the kitchen before going back to Sherlock.

            “Here you are love,” he said, handing it to the detective and then sitting down between the brothers on the coffee table. Sherlock dug in with surprising gusto and Mycroft looked at John with a half pleasant smile.

            “Sherlock’s business has boomed since you two have become… pals,” he said, saying the word after think it over for a moment, looking between them. John snorted, a grin taking over his lips. Sherlock, mouth full of Indian food, glared darkly at his brother.

            “I’d say we’re a bit more than pals,” he replied, looking back at Sherlock and running his fingers underneath the warm jumper, rubbing his stomach.

            “Oh yes, of course, it’s quite obvious by the state of Sherlock’s middle that you two are more than _pals_ ,” Mycroft replied. He sighed and leaned back, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “What’s it like to live with him now he’s pregnant, it must be hellish.” John looked back at Sherlock and smiled. “It’s never boring, though I’ll admit, it was never very dull before.”

            “Good,” Mycroft said and John didn’t miss the condescending tone, “that’s just lovely isn’t it.” He swung his umbrella before planting it on the floor and getting to his feet. Sherlock grabbed his bow and swung it around lazily so it was pointing at his brother. Mycroft held out a manila folder and Sherlock stuck another forkful of curry in his mouth, looking off to the side. The elder scowled lightly and turned to John, offering the folder to him.

            “Andrew West,” he said as the man took the folder, “known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.” John opened the folder and quirked an eyebrow.

            “Jumped in front of a train?”

            “Seems the logical assumption.” John glanced up at Mycroft, a smile playing on his lips.

            “But?” Mycroft’s eyebrows scrunched together.

            “‘But’?” John nodded, shrugging a bit.

            “Yes, ‘but’. You wouldn’t be here if this was all just an accident,” he replied. Sherlock smirked, making a small, approving noise in the back of his throat. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the both of them.

            “The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defense system, the Bruce-Partington Programme, it’s called.” John flicked through the folder as Sherlock set the empty takeout box to the side. The detective grabbed his violin and moved it back into lap. “The plans for it were on a memory stick.” John snorted softly as Sherlock picked up his bow and began applying rosin along the hairs.

            “That was very clever,” he muttered, glancing back at Sherlock. Mycroft swung his umbrella around, watching the two with a bored expression.

            “It wasn’t the only copy,” he informed them and John nodded, refusing to look up and let the man see his suppressed grin. “It _is_ secret however, and missing.”

            “Top secret?” Mycroft nodded at John’s question

            “Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can’t possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands.” He moved around John to hover over his brother. “You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “don’t make me order you.” John bit his lips to keep from laughing. Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath through his nose and lifted his violin to his chin.

            “John’s the _only_ one allowed to order me around, I’m afraid,” he replied, staring at his brother, poised to run the bow across the violin strings. Mycroft ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek again and leaned forward, bracing himself on his umbrella.

            “Think it over.” The younger Holmes simply stared at him, unimpressed. Mycroft walked back around to John, who’d closed the folder and stood up. “Goodbye John,” he said, shaking the doctor’s hand as he stood. He smiled oddly at the shorter and John tried not to look nervous. “See you soon.”

            He sighed and pulled away as Sherlock began to play a short sequence of rather irritating notes over and over. John shot him a look which he ignored and Mycroft quickly gathered his coat and left. John turned fully to look at the detective as the front door slammed closed. Sherlock lowered the violin, glaring to the side instead of meeting the doctor’s gaze.

            “Why’d you say that?” he asked, “why’d you lie? You’ve got nothing on, you’ve been dying for a case. That’s why the wall took a pounding,” he said, pointing towards the bullet hole ridden wall. “Why would you tell him you were busy?” Sherlock shrugged, glancing up at him.

            “Why shouldn’t I?” John sighed and stood up, moving to the kitchen.

            “Ah, of course, sibling rivalry, how could I forget?” he asked, debating on grabbing a biscuit from the tray he was sure Mrs. Hudson had left. Sherlock opened his mouth to argue when his phone rang. John tugged the mobile out of his pocket and tossed it to Sherlock, suddenly a little too tired to care.

            “Sherlock Holmes,” the detective said, watching John as he moved back into the living room. His eyes widened as he listened to the speaker. “Of course, we’ll be waiting for you.” He hung up and looked excitedly at John, pulling himself to his feet and pressing a hand to the small of his back. “Lestrade’s coming over,” he explained as the doctor looked at him. “They apparently found something in the rubble of the rooms downstairs and he’s bringing it to me.”

            “Ah, well, that’s good,” he said, moving to Sherlock’s side. The detective nodded, linking his fingers with John’s.

            “You know I’d be lost without my blogger right?” he asked, looking at John knowingly. The doctor smiled and reached up to kiss the man’s cheek.

            “Yes love, I know,” he replied, squeezing Sherlock’s hand affectionately and resting their joined hands gently on his stomach, smiling as he felt the baby kick against them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot of fun to write, I'm not usually good with Mycroft, but he was a lot of fun to write!! :D Hope you enjoyed! Please lemme know whatcha think <3


	4. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get married

            _John’s hands shook more than a little as he smoothed down the front of his military uniform. He fiddled with the badges and ran a hand nervously through his hair. He looked at his reflection in the full length mirror the court had in the bathroom and tried to breathe evenly._

_“John!” The doctor looked around and saw Lestrade poking his head past the bathroom door. “Hey, you look great! Real sharp!” the DI said as he walked in. John swallowed and managed a small grin._

_“Christ Greg, I don’t think I was this nervous when I got deployed,” he said, turning back to the mirror. The other man chuckled and walked forward, turning John to look at him._

_“He loves you, right?” Lestrade asked with a smirk, straightening the shorter’s jacket lapels. John nodded, trying to take a calming breathe. “And you love him?”_

_“More than he loves murders,” John replied instantly. Greg laughed, clapping the doctor on the shoulder and steering him towards the door._

_“Then you have nothing to worry about,” he told John, leading him out. “Honestly, I think you’ve been married since the moment the both of you moved into the flat. This is just making it official.” John chuckled and scratched the back of his head._

_“Yeah, I see what you mean,” he replied. He stopped outside the courtroom and took a deep breath, straightening his back and putting his game face on._

_“You’ve got this,” Lestrade said softly, pushing the doctor past the doors._

_Sherlock stood fidgeting near the judge’s bench with Mycroft next to him and the judge waiting a little bit behind them. Mycroft glanced at his brother and raised a slim eyebrow at the younger’s constant movement. He heaved a sigh and turned the detective towards him._

_“Would you sit still?” he said more than asked, firmly, fixing Sherlock’s suit jacket and the collar of his shirt. The younger glared at Mycroft but managed to still minutely. Sherlock watched his brother fix the small violet he’d tucked in his jacket pocket and then turned him back around._

_“What if he changes his mind?” Sherlock asked, disliking the feel of worry and not knowing creeping into his mind and tugging painfully in his chest. Mycroft glanced at him from the corner of his eye and let a very small smile appear on his lips for a moment._

_“Do you doubt the way John feels for you?” he asked, watching the world move outside the windows across from them. Sherlock shook his head, snorting as if that wasn’t even a possibility but Mycroft could see right through his brother and tell how worried he was. He saw it in the small worry lines around his eyes as he flew through his mind palace, searching for all the negative outcomes. He could see it in the stiff, rigid way the man held himself._

_“If he’s put up with you for this long, I doubt he’s going anywhere,” he said softly, turning to look at Sherlock. The detective took a deep breath and nodded to himself and Mycroft could see him relax some._

_“Thank you,” the younger muttered, still not turning to look at his brother. Mycroft nodded, turning back to look out the windows._

_“You’re welcome.” As he closed his mouth, the court room doors opened and Sherlock’s head whipped around. John walked through the door with Lestrade following behind. The detective looked appreciatively over John’s strapping form, drinking him in._

_John held back the wide smile that threatened to take over his mouth and instead managed a steady smirk in Sherlock’s direction. The doctor had tried to talk the man into a white suit, but Sherlock wouldn’t be caught dead in white, unfortunately. They settled on a dark grey suit and John couldn’t take his eyes off the man._

_He made his way to Sherlock and the judge stepped forward, greeting them both. He had Greg and Mycroft sign the witness area of the marriage certificate and then had Sherlock and John repeat the vows after him. They didn’t have rings yet, Sherlock promised to get a couple, and the detective practically tackled John as he jumped forward and kissed him._

_“We’re married,” he hummed as he pulled away, beaming. He’d found partners and spouses a completely ridiculous nation before he’d met John, but now that he was bound to the doctor and John was bound to him… He didn’t know if there was much else he wanted. John’s heart was pounding against his rib cage but he didn’t think he would ever be happier than he was right then._

_“We are,” the doctor agreed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck and pulling him close. “Ready to start our lives together, officially, y’know.” Sherlock grinned and kissed him again._

_“More than ever.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm using this transcript here http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/46716.html for all the exact parts from the show!


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